Lily
by hidethemoon
Summary: Harry, uncertain with his direction in life after the war, opens a bakery. After immense success, Harry decides he needs to hire some help. Harry/Draco.


Sometimes, simple and sweet is what I need to write to get out of a slump. This is my attempt. Thanks for reading.

-:-

He hadn't intended to blow his money on the little shop in Diagon Alley. It was an old, ivy-covered red brick building squeezed between a seedy law firm and what appeared to be a cosmetics shop, if the bright posters of red-lipped winking witches was anything to go by. The windows of the building had even been boarded up, which in Harry's opinion was a bit much. It needed a little care, but Harry had immediately fallen in love with the place, and he liked the idea of a demanding project that didn't require him to be dodging curses. It had taken him some time to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with the old shop, and the place collected dust for a few more weeks after he had bought it. The idea finally struck him as he watched his friends tucking gleefully into one of his latest baking creations.

Hermione had been thrilled at the idea of him doing something so productive with his time and money. Ron was happy he could grab some of Harry's baked goods whenever he liked, though Hermione made sure Ron knew he would be paying for them.

It was an ideal venture, especially considering he had made up his mind shortly after the war that he would not become an Auror. He couldn't handle chasing after people anymore. Ron had been a little disappointed, but ended up venturing into a different career path himself. Now, every time they visited, Harry was regaled with stories of the latest disasters in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He didn't mind, honestly—Ron was happy, and the stories were great.

And he, too, would be happy with his new business. As much as he disliked the fact, his name would bring in enough revenue to keep the business flourishing for a long while. He hoped, however, that his skill in baking would help it excel as well. He knew very well that he was an excellent baker. All those years trying to make the Dursleys happy had paid off in the long run, and Harry supposed he had at least one thing to thank them for.

Perhaps it was an unconventional way of living out his life. Much of wizarding society seemed to think so, especially those who were bidding on his Auror career. But he was happy, and that wasn't unconventional at all to him.

With a smile, Harry surveyed the results of his hard work. He had been restoring the old shop for a few weeks now and it was finally complete. It would have taken much longer, but magic's help went a long way when clearing out dust and dirt and old bits and pieces. He had the ugly, ragged yellow wallpaper stripped and the walls painted anew. They were now a lovely cream color, with one soft blue accent wall. The shop was furnished with matching dark wood tables and chairs. Tasteful paintings lined the walls, and he had also set out large vases stuffed with gorgeous, fragrant flowers. The flowers were never-wilting and charmed to change color to his fancy each day. The displays he had set up for his goods were, of course, currently empty. He smiled as he envisioned them full of his creations.

It was perfect.

-:-

He named it Lily.

He had mulled over every name under the sun for days, even asking his friends to help him come up with something fitting for his new bakery. Ron was absolutely no help, as he insisted Harry just call it 'The Bakery' and be done with it. Hermione suggested he name it 'Potter's Patisserie' or something similar, after himself, much like the other shops in Diagon Alley were named after their founders. Harry, however, had scrapped that idea as well. It hadn't felt right to him, and frankly seemed a bit campy.

He decided to take a hint from the Muggle world and name his shop some sort of pleasing and eye-catching noun. With that idea in mind he then, finally, had settled on his mother's name.

A flower certainly fit the delicate sensibilities of a bakery, he thought. He switched a few of the paintings to depictions of lilies and rearranged some of the vases so they contained more of the lovely flower. Harry liked their smooth, floral scent (and also cast a subtle charm on them to strengthen their perfume), and they served to put the final touches on his bakery.

He opened the very next day.

It was busy, and tiring, and full of customers and baking and getting flour _everywhere,_ but he was happy. He collapsed into a chair at closing, and still felt happy. The broad grin he had been sporting all day had relaxed into a contented smile, and he wiped some flour from his hands onto his apron and surveyed the shop.

There were a few leftover dishes to pick up and send to the self-cleaning kitchen (Hermione's work, bless her), and the floor needed to be swept. He absently flicked his wand at the broom and it jumped to work, skillfully sweeping under every table and chair. He watched it silently, contentedly, and sighed.

He had never felt so proud of anything he had ever done. Even when Voldemort had collapsed into dust before him, he hadn't been this proud. Back then, he had honestly felt almost nothing, maybe relief, but not pride. Everyone told him he should feel proud, for defeating a dark lord and saving the world, but he didn't.

 _This,_ he realized, was what pride felt like—genuine pride.

He scratched absently at his thin stubble and stood, stretching his long body until he felt a few good bones pop. He eyed the display case, and again flicked his wand so that the remaining goods began to box themselves up in neat little white boxes. He only had a few cupcakes, tarts, and a small carrot cake left, but he would send them all to the Weasley's. He refused to re-serve food from the day before, nor did he like to trash perfectly good food, and he knew his sweets wouldn't go to waste at the Weasley's.

He snagged a simple chocolate cupcake from one box as an afterthought and bit into it with a delighted groan. He rarely indulged in his own baking, preferring to bake for others, but he felt he deserved one after a full and successful first day of business. He grabbed the two to-go boxes and exited the shop, locking the door behind himself and checking the wards.

Satisfied, he began to walk to George's shop, hoping to catch him there so they could visit Molly's together. George had at first stayed alone in the apartment above Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes most nights, avoiding all company. Harry guessed he was sleeping in Fred's bed, crying himself to sleep each night. It might have been what he would do, if he had lost a twin brother. It's what he had done when he lost Sirius, but George's loss wasn't quite the same as losing a godfather. Lately, though, George had begun to emerge from his home, visiting his family more and even staying a few nights. Harry had gotten much closer to him over the past few weeks due to their new mutual career paths, and he thought maybe George was grateful for company that could keep his mind off of his brother.

The sun had set long ago, for which Harry was secretly delighted. He loved the little fairy lights in Diagon that zoomed around people's heads at night like quick little stars. Most magical folk simply ignored them, being used to a world with magic. Harry didn't think he would ever grow tired of them, or any of the beautiful and charming enchantments that existed in the magical world.

He made it to George's within a few minutes. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was only one street over from Lily's, and though the lights were still on, Harry knew it to be closed.

He peeked through the glass door of the shop to see if George was still lingering around downstairs. The red-head was nowhere in sight, so Harry traipsed to the side of the building to the nondescript red door. He rang the doorbell, hearing the loud clang even from where he was standing, and waited for George to emerge.

The door opened quickly and Harry was greeted with a warm hug, which he gladly returned.

"Harry! How was your first day? Come in and tell me all about it," George exclaimed excitedly, practically dragging Harry into the apartment by his wrist. They climbed the stairs while Harry detailed his day.

"There were tons of customers, more than I actually expected. I guess I should have known, you know, everyone wanted to get in on Harry Potter's first day of business. It was insane, they were even lined up outside. I actually had to chase some people off at closing time. I felt a little bad about that, but I have to keep to my business hours or else they'll be walking all over me."

"Have fun, though?"

"Absolutely."

"I can tell," George said with a small smile as he took a seat at his dining room table. "You look happy. Really. I know mum was worried but I can tell this is good for you."

Harry nodded. "Never thought I'd be running a bakery at any point when I was in school, but…you know, I didn't really get to think much about what I'd like to do. It was always someone else suggesting what I'd be good at, because my parents were good at it. Never about me, you know?"

George snorted, and Harry saddened at the pained smiled that crossed his friend's face. "Well, it looks like you've found your calling now. Let's take these bits over to mum's." He tapped one of the white boxes with a slightly more upbeat grin. "I'm sure Ron is dying to get his hands on your leftovers. What say you?"

Harry laughed. He knew he'd have to beat Ron off of most of the sweets so that everyone else could have something.

"Yeah, let's go."

-:-

It had been almost a month since he opened Lily's, and business had barely slowed from the day he had opened it. He found himself run ragged at the end of each day, barely able to pour himself into bed. Though he was still thoroughly satisfied with his business, he eventually decided that he couldn't continue working on his own.

He needed to hire some help.

He contemplated hiring a house elf to help out in the kitchens, but quickly scrapped the idea. Hermione would probably scalp him, for one, and working alongside a house elf would probably remind him too much of Dobby. His chest still seized up at the thought of his old friend. No, a house elf wouldn't do for him.

Instead, he posted an ad in the Prophet and pasted a 'Help Wanted' sign in his storefront. It didn't take long before he was swamped in applications for the position. People were practically foaming at the mouth for the chance to work alongside the great Harry Potter. It didn't matter that it was a simple bakery job, as a clerk no less. His name seemed to lend prestige to the position.

With a sigh, Harry set yet another application aside as the hopeful girl scampered outside. She was enthusiastic enough, but far too young, and seemed a little too distracted by him to be able to do any real work. He quickly scribbled an orange dot on the top of her application with a marker.

They were all color-coded, with potentials being marked with a blue dot. All others were orange, and would likely not be considered at all. He had Hermione to thank for the organizational stroke of genius after she took pity on him wading through page after page of hopeful applicants. He only had a small pile of blues, and planned to look through them tonight and make his final choice.

For now, the ever-growing line of customers was calling to his attention. His new employee would definitely have to be a people person, he thought absently.

The current customer quickly shuffled away from the counter, happy with her box of truffles, and the next stepped forward. Harry had just glanced down to make sure his supply of treacle tarts were still holding up when a cleared throat and a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Potter."

His head snapped up so fast that he heard a very distinct crack accompanied by a small stinging pain in his neck.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

He knew it was a dumb question the second it left his mouth, but he couldn't take it back. Malfoy simply drew his mouth into a thin line and raised an eyebrow.

"I-I…mean, it's been a while, is all."

Malfoy scoffed softly. "Indeed. As for what I'm doing here, I'd like to try one of your baked goods. I've heard they're quite delicious." He hesitated for a second, his forehead wrinkling up in a clear expression of discomfort. "And…I also came here to apply for the job," he breathed out, almost at once. The tips of his ears were red.

Harry blinked. "Oh, um…yeah, okay." He hadn't expected the last bit. He hadn't expected Malfoy to ever be here, at all. He shook his head and pulled himself back together. It was only Malfoy, and he had customers waiting. He handed the blonde the application.

"Okay, here. Just fill this out over there and bring it back. What did you want to try, by the way?"

Malfoy gingerly accepted the application that Harry handed to him as though it would bite him. He bit his lip and his eyes darted over to the display case.

"A small chocolate lava cake, please."

Harry quickly plated the cake and slid it across the counter to the blonde, who paid silently and stalked off to the only deserted corner of the store.

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eyes as he served his remaining customers. He watched Malfoy bite into the cake first, but not after glancing around furtively to see if he was noticed. No one paid him any attention, and the tense line of his shoulders seemed to relax a bit.

He took a bite of the cake first, and his eyes slid closed in bliss. Harry smiled softly as he handed a couple their order of raspberry scones. Even Malfoy seemed happy with his baking. He considered that quite a feat, and mentally patted himself on the back.

The cake was finished almost too fast, and Harry watched as Malfoy hesitantly began to fill out the application. It took him a while, and he kept glancing at Harry, who would pretend to be busy.

As the blonde sat, Harry slowly began to take in his appearance. His coat appeared a simple sleek black number at first, but the color managed to detract from its tatty appearance. It was an old coat, something a younger Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead in. His hair was loose, perhaps unkempt for Malfoy's standards, but it suited the sharp lines of his face more, softened them. His boots were scuffed and dirty, his trousers too loose. His skeletal fingers were gripping the quill he had conjured as though it were a lifeline. Harry noticed the gaunt lines of his cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the cracked lips. Malfoy wasn't supposed to look this way. He looked tired, ragged. Something distant and soft tugged at Harry's heart, but he quickly squashed it in favor of doling out the last of his lemon pie slices to a group of young girls who giggled far too much at him.

He supposed, then, that Malfoy wasn't doing very well after the war. He knew most of the Death Eaters had been convicted and put into Azkaban for life, including Malfoy's father. Narcissa had scraped by because of what she had done for Harry. He had personally testified at her trial, and also Draco's.

Narcissa had wanted to keep her son safe more than anything. He understood that sentiment all too much. He hoped she was doing alright. After what she had done for him, Harry had developed both a sense of respect and admiration for the woman, and felt as though he should return the favor. The Ministry had planned to banish both of the Malfoy's from Britain, but Harry had pulled some strings and managed to void that punishment for them. Instead, the Malfoy Manor became government property and was abandoned, left to the peacocks. It seemed the Ministry was too afraid to do anything with the manor that Voldemort himself had resided in for a year. The remaining two Malfoy's had had to seek refuge elsewhere, and that was the last Harry had heard from them.

Until now, at least. His head snapped up once again when a finished application was waved in his face. He took it with a small blush staining his cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught in his thoughts.

Malfoy pursed his lips at him, still clearly uncomfortable. Harry wondered how poorly Malfoy was doing if he had come to ask Harry for a job, but he didn't dare voice that thought aloud. Instead, he mumbled a quiet thank you and placed the application to the side.

The blonde tilted his head at Harry, regarding him with a sharp eye. After a few seconds, he said, "The cake was fabulous, Potter. You have a gift." The words were quiet, but even. Genuine. Harry smiled.

"Thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

Malfoy dipped his head in acknowledgment before quickly striding from the bakery. He didn't look back.

Harry's eyes strayed to the freshly completed application. After a few moments, he slowly picked up a marker and colored a blue dot on the top of the paper.

-:-

He re-shuffled the small pile of applications, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Even stacked on top of one another, he could pick out Malfoy's paper. One of its corners had gotten scuffed somehow, and the significant crease it caused was burning into Harry's eyes. Perhaps it was some sort of sign. He scoffed at himself.

Pulling the application out once again, he gave it a cursory glance despite knowing almost by heart what was written on the paper.

The handwriting was just as he remembered it from the many scathing, sometimes vaguely threatening notes Malfoy would charm to fly into his hair when a professor had their back turned. The tight lines and looping 'l's' were so familiar that he felt his chest ache with what he recognized as nostalgia. He scoffed again. It hadn't even been two years out of school and he was already reminiscing about Malfoy, of all people.

He supposed it wasn't entirely absurd. The war had changed him rather significantly after all, especially now that he had time to reflect on himself and not worry when he or his friends might next have his life threatened. The war had apparently changed Malfoy as well. He had come to Harry asking for a job, something he would have been thrilled to hold over the blonde's head years ago. Now, it made him feel uncomfortable. He almost pitied Malfoy, but quickly shook that emotion away. Malfoy would hate Harry's pity, and despise him all the more for it.

Instead, he decided to turn that almost-pity into something more useful to the both of them.

With a heavy sigh he placed Malfoy's application back down and summoned some parchment and a quill. He quickly penned up a letter to Malfoy, stating that he had gotten the job and detailing when he would start and what to expect. Before he could change his mind, he sealed it and handed it over to Gilly.

"Here, girl. Take this to Draco Malfoy, would you please?"

The young spectacled owl bobbed her head briefly in agreement, waiting until Harry had finished tying the letter to her leg before taking off out of the open kitchen window. He watched her go, ignoring the pangs of sadness in his gut. Hedwig was irreplaceable, of course, but he had needed an owl, especially once his business took off. It had almost been too much for him to own another owl. Hermione had gone with him when he went to pick out a new one, and had squeezed his hand briefly in understanding when he avoided the cluster of snowy owls altogether. A dark brown owl with a shock of yellow had caught his attention, and he wandered over to a silent, observant little spectacled owl. He knew then, somehow, that she would be his new owl, and he affectionately named her Gilly and took her home with him.

Gilly was sweet enough, but what he loved most was her monolithic silence and absurd level of intelligence. He felt a little bad naming her something as silly as Gilly, but the contrast amused him and he refused to change her name. She seemed to like it, anyway.

He pointedly ignored the reason he had sent Gilly out in the first place, choosing to deal with that situation in the morning. It would be bad enough convincing Malfoy he hadn't given him the job out of a misplaced sense of pity or as some sort of revenge. He honestly didn't intend to torture the man, and he knew it was humiliating enough for Malfoy that Harry was going to be his boss. He'd have to tread carefully. Malfoy had come to him out of desperation, or he wouldn't have come at all. Harry figured he still had some vestiges of a savior complex, and he'd have to keep that from showing around Malfoy at all costs or the man would feel humiliated.

Harry suddenly groaned loudly. He had completely forgotten about his friends. They would eventually find out that he had hired Malfoy, of all people, and they would certainly give him hell for it. Ron, especially, would not take it well. He knew he couldn't avoid that confrontation forever, but he'd worry about that bridge when he came to it.

It was late, and he was tired. He didn't want to think any longer. He could already feel the small headache budding behind his eyes, a vague throb that threatened to expand into an all-out head pounding migraine if he kept stressing himself out.

He quickly shucked off his robe and climbed into bed, letting the cool bedsheets engulf his body. Everything else could wait. For now, he desperately wanted to sleep.

-:-

Malfoy stalked through Lily's white doors at nine sharp. His clothes were soaked from the downpour outside, and his normally bright blonde hair was dull and clinging wetly to his cheeks. Harry was careful to keep his gaze neutral.

"You're not due to start until Monday, Mr. Malfoy," he quipped.

The blonde's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why?" He stalked closer, ignoring the bemused customers that were staring him down. Today, he didn't seem to care if he was noticed. "Why did you do it? Is it pity? Does the great Harry Potter actually pity me, offering me a job to get me on my feet?" His lip quirked up in a familiar sneer, but Harry quickly cut him off.

"You filled out an application, which to my understanding means that you wished to be employed here. I gave you the job."

Malfoy's face tightened. "Surely there were others more qualified than someone who hasn't had a single job since graduating?"

"Actually, no. Most of them were quite young and likely would have been too…distracted to help me like I need. I know you won't be like that. Some of them weren't exactly qualified, either. You're exactly what I need."

Malfoy glowered at him a little longer, seemingly at a loss for words. "It can't be that hard to qualify to work at a bakery."

Harry smiled. "No, not terribly. But you'd be surprised. Besides, you'll keep me on my toes, I'm sure. Like now. You're doing a great job of keeping my customers interested."

Malfoy turned bright pink and whipped around, eyeing all the patrons that were staring. He turned back to Harry, mortified, but quickly hid his discomfort. "I apologize for causing a scene. I'll be going now." He turned to leave.

"Monday!" Harry called after him, getting a stiffening of the shoulders in return.

When Monday did finally roll around, Harry was convinced that Malfoy wouldn't show, and he'd be forced to pick from one of the other applicants that he had discarded. To his surprise, however, Malfoy was waiting for him at the door when he showed up to work on Monday morning. He was fingering the deep, pretty red brick of the shop's exterior, clearly lost in thought. He caught sight of Harry and seemed to fidget even more, avoiding looking at Harry directly.

"I'm glad you decided to take the job, Draco. I could really use the help here, I swear business has doubled since I opened."

Draco's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. He hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words. "Draco?" he finally inquired.

"Ah, yes, well, if we're to be working together I figured it was time I at least starting referring to your by your first name. That's alright, isn't it?" Harry asked. He had thought it would be better to call Draco by his first name, and that perhaps it would help him feel more at ease with the blonde if he could separate _Malfoy_ from _Draco._

Draco nodded shortly. "Yes, that's fine…Harry."

Harry beamed. "See? Brilliant. Now, let me just…"

He drew his wand from his pocket and quickly set about adjusting the ward locks for the day. The wards were set so that when the shop was closed, only Harry could re-enter or even exit. Anyone else would be considered an intruder and forcibly thrown from the wards, along with earning a body full of painful blisters. He would also be notified if such a thing ever took place. During shop hours, the wards were readjusted so people were free to come and go—it wouldn't do to have the intruder treatment given to his customers, after all. There were also anti-theft wards to prevent customers from taking anything. Harry briefly thought about keying Draco into the wards along with him, but decided it would be better to wait until Draco proved he was both trustworthy and wouldn't quit on Harry any time soon. There had been too many years of rivalry, fighting, and bad memories for Harry to automatically trust Draco with something as precious as Lily.

"Come on in, I'll get you prepped for the day."

Draco followed him, apprehension clear in the taut lines around his eyes and mouth. Harry remembered, during school, Draco's skin was smooth and wrinkle-free. He would even assume that Draco had numerous, and likely expensive, methods of skincare to keep his skin so nice. Lucius and Narcissa had also had lovely skin, despite being much older. The fine lines on Draco's face were a sign of how far he had fallen, how stressful his life probably was now. Harry frowned suddenly and quickly pushed those thoughts away so that he could focus on training Draco. _No pity_ , he quietly reminded himself.

-:-

"Blueberry muffins!" Harry called out, levitating the tray through the kitchen door.

"I've got them," Draco replied, snatching the tray from the air and quickly arranging the muffins in the display.

Harry had been experimenting a little with his baking now that he had more time to do so during work hours. His "improved" blueberry muffins had proven to be a big hit, and he had been forced to make a second batch that day by popular demand. He didn't mind. Knowing that people loved his creations so much filled Harry with an immense sense of pride.

It had already been a few weeks since Draco had begun working at Lily. Harry briefly expected him to be a difficult worker, too prideful to do some menial tasks such as cleaning and interacting with customers and arranging display cases. But Draco had thrown himself into the work—he had so little else to work for, perhaps, that he at least wanted to do this right. Harry entrusted him with a job, gave him the benefit of the doubt when no one else had. Even if it was someone he had hated whilst growing up, he _had_ grown up. This was, hopefully, one small way of proving it.

Draco had been turned away from job after job after graduating Hogwarts. His reputation in ruins, his family name crumbled, all his dignity and pride and riches stripped away. His father was in Azkaban, his mother locked away in a shoddy Muggle apartment because it was all they could afford. At first he had had too much pride to take a Muggle job, but the little money they'd kept after the war dwindled quickly and Draco got desperate. He had been working at a Muggle diner for seven months before he applied for the job at Harry's bakery. He hoped, with time, he could rebuild their name in the wizarding world and buy his mother a more respectable home. He hated the peeling paint of their walls, the rickety stairs and the mice in the walls. After all his mother had been through, for _him_ , she deserved better. He vowed to make it better.

Harry would never know how grateful Draco was for the job.

He was learning quite a lot too, some things about baking and running a small business, but mostly about Harry. He had been very suspicious of Harry's motives for hiring him at first, despite having applied for the job in the first place. He had been so desperate to regain his footing in the wizarding world that even working at a bakery was better than nothing. But he gave in and took the job, hoping that it wasn't just a new way to humiliate him. Draco figured he would have earned it, honestly, considering what he and done and the way he treated Harry in the past.

He had also been surprised to find out it was Harry who owned the new bakery in Diagon. Draco, and everybody else, was so sure Harry would move on after Hogwarts to do grand things with his title and fame. Maybe be an Auror for a few years, or eventually run for Minister. Opening a bakery was…very different.

But as Draco watched Harry knead some crushed almonds into a batch of dough, he couldn't see anything else for Harry. His old enemy looked so content, with flour on his cheeks and in his hair. Even Draco's constant presence hadn't bothered him at all. Draco supposed that without the looming threat of Voldemort and death biting at his heels, Harry was much less stressed about life, and much happier. He'd had time to think about what he wanted, and he went for it. Draco wasn't given the same luxury. He bit back the envy licking at his injured heart and turned away to ring up the next customer.

Luckily, not every customer recognized him, but more than a few did. He usually just got some suspicious glares, and a few even refused to take anything from him, but once sighting Harry most people tended to calm down. Draco considered himself lucky. He could have it so much worse. He just wished he didn't need Harry's name to protect him.

The few customers that gave him a hard time were still better than when Harry's gaggle of friends found out he worked there. Hermione had been surprisingly calm about it, only asking Harry if he was sure he knew what he was doing. After a scowl from Harry, Hermione only offered a mysterious smile and remained silent. The ginger, however, exploded, as was to be expected. Harry, lucky for him, had given up on most of his old school grudges, but Ron was about as thick-headed as they came. He refused to believe Draco wasn't up to anything suspicious (perhaps poisoning the goods) and had even been so drastic as to boycott Harry's treats for two weeks. Draco just grit his teeth and bore the scrutiny of Harry's friends, though luckily they rarely visited the shop so he didn't have to endure it much. Harry tended to take the leftovers to the Weasley's home after each night, a ritual he had obviously not been invited to come along on, though recently he had also begun to force Draco into taking some of the leftovers home as well. Draco hated taking them, but he was also secretly grateful. He could really only afford the most basic food for his mother and himself, and they were never able to indulge in sweets or anything of the sort. The first night he brought them home, his mother, whom he had not told about his new job, was instantly suspicious.

"Where did you get these, Drake?" Narcissa asked quietly, peering into the simple white box at the chocolate cupcakes within.

"Someone gave them to me, mum," Draco answered just as quietly as he hung his scarf up on the nail by the door. They spoke in quiet tones at home, as though the walls would crumble if they raised their voices any higher.

"Who?"

Draco swallowed, pinned under his mother's suspicious stare. He could never lie to her, not any more.

"I...Harry Potter, mum. He made me take them."

"Potter? That's...why did he give you these? Pity?" Her upper lip curled slightly. Though he knew his mum was especially grateful for Harry's help after the war, she could never stand pity from anyone, especially not in their current state.

"No, mum...it's," he paused, hesitant. His mother had been hoping for so long that he would worm his way back into the wizarding world (she certainly had no hope of doing so) that he was almost ashamed to tell her how he did so. It seemed lackluster, unfitting. She would not be proud. "I got a job. At Harry's new bakery he just opened. He was hiring and...he gave me the job."

"Harry now, is it?" Narcissa questioned lightly, but there was amusement tinged on her lips. "A bakery...how quaint. I suppose it suits him in a way. I always thought, after so many years fighting…," here she paused, lips pursed. "Hm, well. That's wonderful news, Drake. I know your...father...wanted you to go into the Ministry with him but...those days are long past. You don't have to worry about him. I'm more than proud of you. Besides, Potter isn't the worst person you could work with. Maybe working with him will bring good favor to our name once again."

"I hope so," Draco murmured. "It pays okay, but I hope to... You know I want to get you out of here. I want to move you into a nicer place, mum I promise you, I will. This is the first step."

Narcissa glanced around their small kitchen with a wry smile. "It wouldn't be so bad if we could use magic to fix some things up but…," she sighed and turned back to Draco. "Just don't over-work yourself, dear."

Draco nodded, wishing he could erase the sadness from his mother's eyes. He would do everything he could to make her life better, even if it was only marginally better than a ramshackle Muggle apartment. He would rather they at least lived in a ramshackle wizarding apartment, but they had little choice at the moment, especially after the Ministry had restricted their magic use. Draco and his mother could only perform a handful of basic "harmless, Ministry-approved" spells, and the number of uses was limited throughout a week-long period. They conserved their magic the best they could, and more often than not manually performed most tasks. They had to learn to do things the Muggle way without house elves to do it for them.

He watched as his mother looked back into the box, carefully picking up one of Harry's best-sellers. He had had the double-chocolate cupcakes once before, and it was honestly his favorite dessert he had ever eaten. He had eaten café liégeois encrusted with one thousand galleons worth of edible gold flakes, but would trade it for Harry's cupcakes any day. He smiled slightly as his mother eyed the sweet curiously before daintily scooping up a piece with a spoon and eating it.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked up at Draco, who was smiling slyly. "Good, isn't it?"

Narcissa hummed in agreement, a smile twisted on her mouth. "It is. Potter was right to open a bakery, I think. It's certainly his calling. I've had few desserts better than this. Are they all as good?"

"Yes, I've gotten to try almost all of them. He uses me as a test subject now, not that I'm complaining. They're all just as good, though these are my favorite."

"I can see why," Narcissa agreed quietly, taking another bite. Draco smiled softly, enjoying his mother's sudden lift in her mood. She turned back to him suddenly with a sly smile and a glint in her eye that made Draco a little uneasy. "Why don't I accompany you to work one day? Just for a visit. I'd love to see how Potter has been doing since...everything."

"I…," Draco paused, left a little speechless but the sudden ball of nervousness curled in his belly. "Why?"

She huffed. "Am I not allowed to visit with the boy whose life I saved and see how he is doing? And I would love to get some fresh air, see where you work...do you not want me there, Drake?"

He knew exactly what she was doing, with the sad lilt to her mouth and pitiable expression, but he found he couldn't refuse her. Besides, one way or another his mother always got her way. He decided to make it easier on himself. With a great, heaving sigh he nodded and replied in a slightly sarcastic tone. "Okay, mother, you're welcome to accompany me to work one day if you so desire. Which day would work best for you?"

Her sly smile deepened. "How about tomorrow?"

Draco groaned.

-:-

Harry arrived at Lily early that Thursday. He had a weekend order for a wedding that he wanted to get started on. He didn't usually do any sort of catering gigs, since it was far too much work piled on top of his business, but Dennis Creevey had asked him personally for the cake and Harry still felt horribly guilty over Colin's death, so he agreed. He had never tried to make a wedding cake before either, and couldn't help but look forward to the challenge.

He had just finished perusing the details of the order again when the little bell jingled over the door. He glanced up, brow furrowed. Draco wasn't due in for another thirty minutes, and the shop would still appear closed to customers for another hour. Draco strode through the door with a stiffened spine and tight mouth, and Harry immediately spotted the reason. Draco's mother trailed in behind him, still managing to look elegant and every bit a pureblood in a worn charcoal robe. Draco clearly got his pale complexion from Narcissa; Harry had seen enough of Lucius up close to remember the man leaned more towards the waxy, sallow skin of Snape. He quickly straightened up from his slouched position over Dennis's order, brushing off some of the flour that was _always_ on his clothes.

"Mrs. Malfoy! What a pleasant surprise. I had no idea Draco was bringing you by today." Draco pinned him with a small glare and Harry realized that the poor man didn't realize he would be bringing his mother either. He smiled, amused, and Draco's scowl deepened.

"Yes, my son would never have found the manners to invite me so I did so myself. He finally informed me about his place of employment and, naturally, I wished to stop by for a visit and see how you were faring. Now isn't a bad time, is it?" she asked, eyeing the order form. Harry stuffed it out of sight.

"No, not at all!" Harry quickly ushered them to the kitchens, where there was a table that he and Draco often sat at to take their lunch. "The shop won't open for another hour or so, you have plenty of time for a visit, Mrs. Malfoy. It's very nice to see you after these last few years. I hope you're doing okay?"

Narcissa smiled, sadness tinging her lips, but she masked it fairly well. "We're doing well enough, Mr. Potter, thank you."

"Yeah, that's...that's great," Harry smiled awkwardly, fiddling his hands nervously. "I'm really glad."

Narcissa glanced around the kitchens, taking everything in. "It's nice to see you've done something so...productive with your time. I recall, perhaps wrongly, that you previously had aspirations to be an Auror?" She left the question in the air, brow arched at him.

Harry swallowed thickly. "Er, yeah, that uh...didn't really work out. After everything...happened, you know, I was just tired, I guess. I didn't want to keep chasing people for a living, or always looking over my shoulder."

Narcissa hummed softly, watching a copper baking sheet wash itself in the large sink. "Yes, I imagine that would've gotten tiresome for you. I admit I was surprised to hear you had opened your own business, but it suits you. It seems you're doing quite well for yourself."

"Er, yeah…I like to think people come here because they like my baking, but it's probably because...well, you know. The name sells more than anything, I think." He shrugged. The copper sheet zoomed into a cupboard, nestling into its proper spot.

"Don't sell yourself short, Mr. Potter. Draco brings home your cakes all the time, forced upon him as they are. They're delectable, if I do say so myself. You have a gift. It's very generous of you to share it with the world."

Harry blinked, red flushing his face and ears. "Er, thanks?"

Draco, who had been rather quiet up until that point, scoffed. Narcissa shot him a small look that hushed him up immediately. "No need to thank me, Mr. Potter. Now, I'm afraid I must be going. It was lovely catching up with you." She inclined her head gracefully and swept out of the kitchen before Harry could think to say anything in return.

Silence fell for a few long seconds, in which Harry shuffled awkwardly and Draco stared pointedly at the refurbished table, mouth tight.

"You didn't tell your mother you worked here?" Harry finally said weakly. The blonde's lips twisted sourly and he pinned Harry with a glare.

"No. I didn't want her to think you took me in out of _pity_ ," he spat. His whole body was tense, ready for a fight, and Harry quickly threw his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

"Whoa, where did that come from? I didn't take you in out of pity. I thought we were past this, Draco."

The blonde sneered, but even Harry could tell it was half-hearted. The fight had already gone out of him. "It's hard to admit to your mother that a boy you used to hate in school offered you a job at a _bakery_ because no one else would hire you," he muttered softly. He looked so defeated at that moment that Harry wasn't sure he was still looking at Draco Malfoy.

"Well...it's not so bad, is it? You have to admit, being seen with me isn't exactly hurting your reputation any further," Harry ventured gently, which earned him a scowl.

"I just wanted to earn it back on my own. I didn't want any help. My family name had such...power, and prestige. We've been one of the most powerful wizarding families in Europe for centuries. And my father, he squandered all of it in a few years, because he believed a psychopath could level us with the gods." Draco sighed, head in his hands, and Harry could think of nothing to say to that, so he reached over and awkwardly patted Draco's back.

"What in the devil are you doing?" Draco asked incredulously, voice muffled by his hands.

"Comforting you."

"Well, stop it."

-:-

If things went a little more smoothly between them after their little chat in the kitchens, neither one of them mentioned it, and in fact took great measures to pretend that was the way it had always been. Hermione kept levelling odd looks at Harry every chance she got after she saw them together again, her lips pursed in that frightening way they would purse right before she figured something out. Harry took to avoiding looking her in the eye.

At home, Draco was experiencing his mother's version of the Granger Gaze, in which Narcissa would ask him pointed questions (about Harry) and raise a disappointed eyebrow at him when he gave her diplomatic answers in return. Draco wasn't quite sure what she was after, asking him so many questions about his boss, but he knew better than to give her any information she didn't need to know. His mother had a way of figuring out things he wasn't even aware of yet (a trait she and Granger seemed to share).

Both men were perfectly happy being so terribly dense that they hadn't noticed the subtle shift between them. It wasn't until a spectacularly dismal Tuesday morning that either one of them began to truly notice anything at all.

That particular Tuesday had dawned dreary and cold, it being well into October, and rain poured steadily from the blue-gray sky. Harry glanced up at the tinkling doorbell and was greeted by a thoroughly soaked and miserable Draco Malfoy.

"Draco! You're completely drenched!" he exclaimed, which earned him a withering glare from the blonde.

"I'm perfectly aware," he snipped, prowling behind the counter and heading towards the kitchen. Harry slid off the stool to follow him.

"Sorry, it's just...why didn't you use a Shield Charm to keep the rain off or something?" Harry questioned, all the while keeping a wary distance from Draco.

" _Because_ ," he hissed, "I _still_ have Ministry restrictions on my wand. Just one of those things, you know, about being a former Death Eater and having everyone suspect you'll attempt to resurrect him at any moment. Even a simple Shield Charm could send him zooming back from the afterlife to finish the job, apparently!" He threw his hands into the air dramatically and collapsed into a chair with a loud squelch.

Harry swallowed thickly and fidgeted nervously. He hadn't known the Ministry had restricted use of Draco's wand, though he really should have known. He'd never seen Draco use magic in the shop, not even a simple cleaning charm. He'd always done everything manually, or let Harry deal with magic use. He ordered around the enchanted cookware easily enough, but that didn't exactly require a wand to do; the cookware was just exceptionally good at following orders.

"Well," he began, still remaining well out of range of Draco's fists, "I didn't know about that part. But, er, you could've just used an umbrella too, you know. I have an extra if you'd like to borrow it."

Draco lifted his head to stare incredulously at Harry, mouth slightly open, and then he began to laugh. It was a deep laugh, straight from the diaphragm, bordering on hysterical, that had him throwing his head back and laughing right at the ceiling and clutching at his sides.

Of course, in that moment, Harry suddenly couldn't help but notice how the wet strands of his silver-blonde hair clung to his sharp cheeks, and how wet his lips looked, and and how his rain-soaked clothes clung to his lean body. Draco was so beautiful when he laughed. He swallowed again, suddenly feeling _very_ warm.

"It wasn't that funny," he mumbled, trying not to think about running his hands along wet Draco's body, or through his rain-darkened hair. He marveled at how little the sudden realization that he found Draco incredibly attractive was bothering him. He could hardly bring himself to care that he suddenly wanted to mount his former school rival like a stallion.

Draco hiccuped a little, his laughter having died into giggles. "I just can't believe, after months and months of learning to live without magic, I couldn't think of something so Muggle and _practical_ as a fucking umbrella." A suspicious wetness was gathering in the corners of Draco's eyes, much to Harry's alarm.

"Er, it's fine, really. You've lived your whole life with magic to help. It's hard, isn't it, to go without?" he asked, rhetorically more than anything, but Draco snorted and swiped at his eyes.

"What would you know about it, you ponce. _You_ don't have the Ministry breathing down your neck."

Harry smiled thinly. "Well, seeing as I've lived the first eleven years of my life without even knowing magic was real, I'd say I know what it's like to live without it. And, I do actually know what it's like to have the Ministry biting at your heels all the time."

Draco threw a half-hearted sneer at him. "That's different. They moon over you because they _adore_ you. I'm not worth the dirt on their feet. We're noticed for entirely different reasons."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Harry conceded with a grimace. He also knew what it was like to have the Ministry despise him as well, but that was all in the past, and it was best not to open that can of worms. He still had nightmares about pink mewling kittens and blooming, sharp pains from dream quills scratching into his skin. He shuddered.

"Would you mind?" Draco's voice cut into his thoughts and he startled. Draco was clutching his still-soaked shirt and giving Harry a pointed look. It took Harry a few moments to put two and two together, as visions of silvery wet skin kept flashing in his mind's eye.

"Oh! Of course!" He flushed an impressive shade of red and fumbled for his wand so he could cast a quick drying charm on Draco. His clothes settled back to their normal shape, perfectly dry, much to Harry's dismay, though the best part was watching Draco's hair puff out as it dried and then settle perfectly into place.

"Well, I'm going to get the front ready, then," Draco said smartly and swept out of the room.

Harry sighed forlornly. A lazy swish of his wand had the pots and utensils jumping to start their jobs for the day, and he then promptly lowered his forehead to the table with a muffled _thunk_. A wooden ladle paused in its journey to mix a fresh bowl of brownie batter to pat him gently on the back.

"I'm in so much trouble," he lamented to the room. He received no answer from the other less sympathetic utensils, so he plodded out to help Draco set up for the day.

-:-

Draco moodily tossed the dirty rag towards the kitchen sink, where it fell short of its goal by several feet and scooched the rest of the way to the blessed soapy water and threw itself in. Draco heaved a heavy sigh.

"You alright?" Harry asked tentatively and received a huff in return.

"No. Today was _shit_."

"Because of Nott? Come on, Draco, he's a prick. He's not worth it." Draco shrugged, scowl still present.

"He always knew how to get under my skin. I hated the little worm in school...he's even worse now. I don't… _ugh_! I wanted to jump across the lemon tart and clock him right in his crooked little beak."

Harry couldn't help but guffaw at the mental image. He didn't have any lost love for Nott either, and to be frank, Draco's anger flushed his skin a very appealing pink that made Harry want to do something stupid.

"You know, I did that to him. His crooked nose? I actually did punch him in the face, our sixth year. He was making an absolute ass of himself and I just turned and smashed his nose in. Even Pomfrey couldn't quite get it to set back right. He never forgave me for that, but it's not like we were friends before. Ass." The triumphant smirk slid off his face as he turned to look at Harry. "What?"

Harry realized he'd been staring with something like wolfish intent at Draco and quickly looked down. "Er, nothing. I always wondered about that...his nose wasn't always so off-center."

"I had enough to deal with that year without him breathing down my neck about what I was doing," Draco muttered, then froze. Harry realized, then, what Draco was referring to, but he wasn't angry, or upset, or anything at all. Silence fell between them, thick and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, you know," he said eventually. Draco's brow furrowed.

"For what?"

"For…" He made the slashing motion across his chest and Draco looked away, face tight. "That wasn't right. I didn't even know what that spell did, before I cast it. I could have killed you." _You almost did._

"It's in the past, Potter. We all made mistakes that we can't take back."

Harry thought immediately of Sirius, falling through the veil. Trying to cast _Crucio_ at Bellatrix. Letting Cedric touch the cup. Watching Dumbledore fall from the tower. Hitting Draco with a curse that had come dangerously close to slitting his throat. He clenched his eyes shut, hoping to shake the sudden downpour of mistakes and mishaps and everything that had just gone _wrong_. When Harry opened his eyes again, it was to Draco watching him with a knowing glint in his eye. Draco, he realized, probably did this every day. His mistakes and wrongs probably ran through his head daily, non-stop, until they defined his every waking hour. Until Draco himself probably felt like a mistake himself.

"Draco...I'm…"

"Don't say you're sorry," Draco said quietly, his face turned to stone. "Whatever you do, just don't say that. I may have royally fucked up my life, but they were my own choices and now I'm living with the consequences. It's nothing less than I deserve."

Harry frowned. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that...that I'm glad you're here, now." He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling quite nervous, as he'd never been good at talking about any sort of feelings.

A small crease formed between Draco's eyebrows, marring the skin. "Why?"

"Well, I...because it's nice being friends with you. At least, I feel like we're friends. Becoming friends. And that this is one of the only things that have felt right in my life since...everything. You, and the shop," he clarified. He carefully avoided Draco's eyes. Draco, who was silent for too long, and giving Harry heart palpitations.

"That's disgustingly emotional, Harry. I ought to forbid such things in my presence." Harry laughed despite himself. He had long since become used to Draco's snide and thorny remarks. "You're not going to start batting your eyelashes at me in front of the customers, are you?"

"I could, if you're into that," Harry said genially, still laughing. Draco wasn't laughing, but there was a tiny, glittering smile lighting up his lips and his cheeks had gone pink. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen someone so lovely before. Before he could help it, or think through his actions, or anything else remotely rational, he surged out of his chair, crossed the room and had caught Draco's lips with his own.

The other man stiffened under Harry's lips. He didn't move for several seconds, during which Harry also didn't move whilst simultaneously second-guessing his decision. Finally, Draco began to relax and press his lips back against Harry's. The gesture was so uncertain and hesitant that Harry almost pulled away so he could look Draco in the eyes, but something told him not to. Something told him to gently cup Draco's face with his hands instead, and slot their mouths together a little more comfortably, and to keep kissing him.

It was Draco who eventually pulled away to stare wide-eyed at Harry, his grey eyes blown with something like panic. "What-"

Harry kissed him again, quickly, cutting him off, and when he pulled away Draco's panicked look was replaced with ire. _Much better_ , Harry thought. He could deal with that much more easily than panic. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

"Oh, ages, have you? If you're going to shut me up by kissing me every time now I don't think I'll be letting you kiss me very much at all," Draco sniffed, but the strange glint in his eye told Harry that he hadn't minded the kiss much at all. "But, if you insist, then...I suppose I wouldn't mind a few more." His face had grown quite flushed, and he couldn't quite meet Harry's eye, and Harry thought Draco was awfully endearing at that moment. He smiled broadly and swooped in for another, longer kiss, which Draco returned enthusiastically.

"Wait 'til you tell your mother about this," Harry laughed as he pulled away from Draco. He received a sharply raised brow in return.

"Yes, but _you_ have to tell Weasley."

"Ah, shit."

-:-

The fallout, Harry mused as he trailed his fingers up Draco's smooth body, hadn't been so terrible.

Ron had just shaken his head, stood up and left the room, muttering about having to deal with 'Malfoy at Christmas,' while Hermione had just given him a smug look that made Harry want to follow Ron out of the room. Ron had eventually found Harry again and clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well, at least he's not my boyfriend, mate."

It was better than he had hoped for, at least.

He'd asked Draco what his mother had said, but the blonde had just shot him a dark glare. "Don't ask me that," he'd snapped. "If you stick around long enough you'll have to deal with her _looks_ too."

"Are they as bad as Hermione's?"

"Worse."

Harry grimaced at the thought, tickling Draco's skin with his fingernails so that it pebbled up under his hands. His fingers brushed over the long, puckered scar that crossed Draco's chest and the man hitched a sharp breath, nearly pulling away, but Harry pulled him back and continued his explorations of Draco's body.

He glanced up, finding those soft silvery eyes staring back at him with something gentle in their depths that made Harry's chest clench. A smile tugged at Draco's pale lips and he reached up a slender hand to brush against Harry's own stubbled cheeks. Their bodies were such a sharp contrast to each other, and Harry never got tired of blending their bodies together. His dark skin complimented Draco's ghostly pallor so beautifully that he wondered if they were always meant to end up tied together this way.

"If you're just going to stare, Potter, you might as well make yourself useful while you do it," Draco murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice being music to Harry's ears. He grinned.

"As you wish," he whispered against Draco's skin, causing the man to shiver delightfully.

It was already their third time that night, a night they'd both called off work early to take some much-needed time for themselves (mainly, upon reflection, to spend as much time naked in bed as possible). Harry slid in smoothly, Draco's breath hitching in a sharp gasp that bellied out into a groan. Their love-making had already quieted from its previous frenzy into a slow, smooth rhythm that had Draco muttering Harry's name against the skin of his neck and breathing harshly with each thrust, deeper and deeper, while Harry's hands roamed over smooth skin and cupped Draco's ass and spread sturdy fingers through silky blonde hair. The touches never ceased, the soft moans and deep breathing continuous and flowing, even as Harry came and wrapped his hand around Draco to help him come, too.

Nothing had ever felt quite so right for him, not even opening the bakery, than holding Draco in the aftermath of sex. Everything else had just culminated to this exact point, where feelings of content and happiness bloomed from Harry's chest throughout his body. He finally felt right, and wanted, and more like _Harry_ than he'd ever felt in his entire life. He sighed contentedly and pressed a firm kiss to a dozing Draco's hair before letting his eyes stray to a piece of parchment on his desk, left open from earlier. He smiled fondly and turned away again, curling into Draco's warmth and allowing himself to fall into a contented doze as well.

 _Mr. Potter,_

 _I'm sure you know by now that my son has told me everything. I must admit I knew this would happen, after seeing the two of you together. Neither of you are very subtle, though I doubt you were aware of your shared chemistry at the time. Previously, I would never have imagined my son's future to turn out like this, but after everything that's happened, I have wanted nothing but his happiness. And he is happy with you, Mr. Potter. I hope, for your sake, that he can continue to find happiness with you. You have all my blessings._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy_


End file.
